For someone who used to make conspiracy videos on the disturbing similarities between the dystopian and real world for a living, he was severely underprepared for when his predictions actually came true. He mentally ridiculed his current situation, tied with a rotting rope to the train tracks of the safehouse. Calling an abandoned train coach a safehouse didn't feel fair, however. Silas had left the comfort of his home and his beloved four screen computer setup in belief of a larger and safer settlement so facing the dusty, creaking and ancient train coach, although first class, gave him the shock and surprise of being catfished on a first date. The experience was usually followed by a dose of dashed dreams and an ultimate reality check, a similar story here as well.

He clumsily rubbed his hands together to drive away the settling cold, small snow clumps melting on his skin, making the job of regulating his temperature more difficult for his body. The duo that had tied him were going through his gear bag, eager to find something of use, no doubt. They wouldn't. Everything Silas carried was usually of use to his eyes and his eyes only and knowing that they were searching for warm clothes and drinking water, Silas could do nothing but plan for the inevitable- their eventual hopelessness turned to anger out of desperation. He had roughly five minutes to think of an escape if he didn't want to turn into a human venting bag. 

Silas promised himself that if he did manage to escape this situation, he'd test every stranger he came across from then on with nothing less than a shotgun aimed at their face. Right after he figured out where to acquire one from. 

His mind wandered away from lighthearted thoughts he was using to make light of the state he was in and settled on the past few days and his survival skills. Or lack thereof.

When the blackout took place, he'd simply thought it was a normal power outage. Gradually realising that even though it should have been mid-afternoon, the room was pitch black, he fumbled with his software-defined radio which was basically a fancy name for the device he used to intercept unauthorized transmissions to support his conspiracy theories. 

"— repeat, this is Dr. Elias Thorne from the AUREUM research facility. We have a critical failure — I repeat — a catastrophic collapse —"

A panicked voice broke through the static, his words in the moment not making sense but tone conveying enough urgency for Silas to realise how grave the matter was. A screech of feedback later, the same distant voice continued yelling in the background. 

"If anyone's receiving this — AUREUM is compromised. The sun isn't gone — Quantum State 0 — The Psi wave — the sun — we—"

The sun was gone. That's all he understood before the connection was severed and all that was left was the dreaded sound of static.

It was a no-brainer that staying put was the less beneficial option during a global crisis such as this one, so after waylaying a few more channels, he drafted a route leading to the nearest supposed base that the government claimed they would periodically rescue survivors from.

In those few days, however, not only did he empty his rations before time, but also got cornered by the military, the very ones who were supposed to help him reach the safehouse in one piece.

Not allowing his mind to settle on that harrowing experience, Silas recalled how he got into his current predicament instead. 

Two teenage boys who looked harmless, an invitation to camp together and when he woke up from restless sleep, he was bound tight with no sign of his gear or the boys. If not for the occasional hushes and whispers travelling to his ear, he would've thought they made off with it.

All that they had left was a small torch which was now flickering with lack of battery. Silas didn't want to think of what would happen once that went off. People usually acquired skills that helped them survive, he had recently acquired a tragic fear of the dark. 

Two shadows suddenly appeared in sight making him sigh in relief of human presence, no matter how unreadable their expression was. The taller one with the lean build and a confrontational posture held a black, metal canister in one hand and his gear bag in the other. At a single gesture from him, the other, shorter and anxious eyed one, headed towards Silas, gingerly holding a switchblade to his neck.

"What's in this?" The taller one demanded, turning the canister upside down to inspect it and nearly giving Silas a heart attack in the process. 

"Don't shake it so hard!" He hissed, struggling against his bound hands before the thick-headed idiot would let his curiosity blow all three of them up.

"Dayne, maybe - maybe we should keep that aside. I don't think- think it has anything ed-edible." The boy with childlike fear in his eyes stuttered, his hand that held the switchblade shaking, making Silas curse and lean back to avoid getting accidentally cut.

"Hey, look here kid. Firstly, put the blade away. We both know you don't want to use it and quite frankly the chances of you unintentionally slitting my throat are higher than intentionally." Silas said pointedly leaning his head away.

"Theo..." The sour faced guy hissed as his accomplice lowered the blade. "You can't just let them all get away! How do you expect us to get anything to eat, huh? Do you want to take a chance with those men with guns instead? How do you expect us to get anywhere if you keep being so damn softhearted-" Dayne shouted harshly, glaring as he waved his hands in frustration giving Silas another mini heart attack causing him to shout.

"Hey! Dayne, whatever your name is. You! Stop shaking it around like a damn bell-"

The canister made a hissing sound, and a stream of ominous yellow gas came bursting out.